When Spain Lost
by Hazelstiltskin
Summary: "... You're about to cry." Antonio placed his hands on his hips and let out a faltering laugh. "No! No, I'm just a bit worked up; after all, that was an intense game! They all did their best!" The mask slipped as he spoke, his eyes glistening and lips twitching into a horrible contortion between a smile and a grimace. [FIFA!Talia, Spamano]


**A/N: So I made this as consolation for LHPride and she insisted that I post this here for all of you Spanish friends who witnessed the loss of their team today. x'3 Please enjoy~ **

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Antonio's knuckles tightened around the railing that lined the spectator's box.  
Lovino looked at him, his arms stiffly folded.  
The Italian had known that as soon as the clock reached eighty nine minutes, it was over. For the team of Spain, this football match was to prove their downfall.  
Antonio's features had indicated that he believed otherwise.  
Eighty nine minutes and twenty one seconds.  
Eighty nine minutes and thirty six seconds.  
Eighty nine minutes and fourty seconds.  
Antonio had pat Lovino's hand as the clock continued mercilessly; he donned a hopeful smile. "Anything can happen, it isn't too late!"  
Lovino could see easily past the jovial mask Antonio plastered onto his features. The anxiety flashing behind the Spaniard's verdant gaze was something Lovino could hardly stand to look at.  
And then the final whistle had shrieked, ringing out triumphantly over the stadium and its spectators.  
The stadium erupted into cheers.  
Those who had been rooting for Chile now crashed chests together, tossed their drinks skyward and released bellows of glee. White, blue, and red danced across the stadium in an animate miasma of uniforms, flags, and paint. A few of the football players from Chile below waved and cried out jovially before slipping into the depths of the stadium, arm in arm with their teammates.  
The crowd before Antonio and Lovino, mostly Spaniards, were releasing uneasy murmurs about themselves. A few allowed their flags to fall from their hands, crestfallen, as they hugged one another.  
Lovino sharply observed every inch of Antonio's face; he evidentially noticed this crestfallen demeanor as well.  
Despite this, Antonio still wore a smile, his forehead beaded with sweat and eyebrows knit as he licked his lips and replied, "Hey, anything can happen! It isn't over yet! We still have a match against Australia!"  
Grief gnawed at Lovino's belly but he made no attempt to speak. Even if they beat Australia, Lovino knew the fate of Antonio's team.  
"... You're about to cry."  
Antonio placed his hands on his hips and let out a faltering laugh. "No! No, I'm just a bit worked up; after all, that was an intense game! They all did their best!" The mask slipped as he spoke, his eyes glistening and lips twitching into a horrible contortion between a smile and a grimace.  
Lovino's heart wrenched. He glowered at the taller nation and mutely grabbed his wrist, yanking him away from the sight of his own people and herding him towards the exit.  
"Lovi, Lovi, I'm fine!" Antonio's voice was far too happy to be sincere, which angered Lovino. He was not to be deterred. "I'm fine, we don't need to leave!"  
"Shut up, you're-!" Lovino closed his mouth. It was hard to bring himself to insult Antonio when his expression all but screamed out his sorrow. "Just... shut up."  
With an incoherent mumble of submission, Antonio offered no further resistance as Lovino continued tugging him down the hall, flashing an I.D. card where required and advancing along the location signs towards the bathroom.  
The farther they got from the stadium, the quieter it got. Lovino wasn't sure if the silence would allow Antonio to not think about the loss or prove just the space needed for Antonio to brood over it.  
The brunette turned down a narrow, white hallway. Their footsteps echoing were the only sounds that greeted their ears as they drew near to the location of a pair of bathrooms; the one on the left was labeled male, the one on the right labeled female.  
"Bathrooms?" Antonio mumbled, but Lovino silenced him with a glare.  
"Don't act like you don't need it."  
Antonio didn't reply.  
The door to the male bathroom was decorated with an 'OUT OF ORDER' sign. Antonio pointed to the crude handwriting. "Ah, out of order. Let's just go back to the stadium, I don't-"  
Lovino pivoted on a foot and pulled open the door to the women's restroom. He didn't hesitate to shove Antonio in before entering, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it.  
Antonio stared at Lovino with wide eyes.  
Lovino glared back.  
The silence was only broken by the sound of the toilet running.  
And then, suddenly, Antonio was on his knees crying.  
"_No es justo_-!" He hissed into his hands. The Spaniard leaned forward precariously, his forehead brushing the ground as he ran his fingers anxiously through his hair. "This is..."  
Lovino crouched in front of him, cautiously drawing the Spaniard into an embrace. Antonio immediately clung to Lovino and drew him tight, his breathing erratic.  
Lovino tensed and, unsure of what to do with his hands, patted Antonio's back gently as Antonio's crying grew harder. His shoulders wracked violently with frustrated sobs as he mumbled into Lovino's hold, "_Intentamos tan duro..._!"  
Lovino rubbed at Antonio's back to silence him. He would deck the next soul to say that the nation of Spain didn't take football seriously.  
They remained like that, huddled into one another as Antonio wept and wept for what felt like hours. Lovino didn't realize it, but he had begun murmuring comforts in Italian to Antonio, simple things about how it would be okay and how this was not the end.  
It seemed as though years had passed when the verdant-eyed man finally regained control of his breathing and tears.  
Antonio stood up slowly, pulling Lovino with him, and allowed a wry smile to grace his features. "A-Ahh, sorry about that, Lovino..."  
Lovino snorted. "Why are you apologizing? It wasn't your fault."  
"But-"  
Lovino shoved a wad of toilet paper into Antonio's face. "Clean yourself up, you dork. There's snot all over your face."  
Antonio's smile didn't relent as he chuckled and began doing as instructed.  
"... It really wasn't your fault, though. So stop beating yourself up over it." Lovino spoke flatly, shifting uneasily. "They did their best and that's what is important."

"So what if they didn't win? They played their best and brought Spain pride, didn't they? That's all that matters."  
Antonio crumbled the toilet paper into a fist. His eyes were puffy. "That's..."  
"That's all that matters." Lovino repeated, huffing and stepping forward. "I'll be damned if you don't use this chance to learn from your mistakes and come back to beat everyone else's asses next year, though."  
Antonio's smile faltered; Lovino felt strucken with terror as Antonio began crying again.  
"A-Antonio-"  
"Oh, Lovino!" Antonio swept forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, squeezing him tightly. "You're right. You're right; it'll be okay!" He rested his chin on Lovino's head and continued, "We lost, but it happens. We'll come back again next year, though, and we'll win!"  
Lovino's mind raced to keep up. With heated cheeks Lovino shoved at Antonio. "Y-Yeah, you better. Now, let me go-"  
"Nope!" Antonio spun Lovino once. "Not until I tell you thank you."  
"..." Lovino opened his mouth but Antonio beat him to it.  
"Thank you, Lovi." Antonio's smile softened slightly. "Really. Thank you."  
Lovino shrugged, hoping that his ears weren't turning as read as they felt. "N-No biggie. Don't get used to it or anything, you dork."  
"Hee~" Antonio wiped at his eyes before grabbing Lovino's hand. "Shall we head back to the stadium?"  
Lovino grunted. "No. Let's go home."  
Antonio nodded once.  
The pair exited the women's bathroom, hand in hand.

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**A/N: So that's the first time I've ever written something with Lovino. x'D My most sincere apologies if I dun' goofed-**


End file.
